The Marksman
by MrScarySauce
Summary: He was once the epitome of fear. Known around Tamriel as "The Marksman" for his godlike accuracy with a bow. Retired from the Imperial legion, Roland Strelec now spends his days hunting with his best friend Kharjo. But is he retired? Or will the return of the Dragonborn bring back his desire to kill as dragons start destroying his homeland?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**:

This morning's cold breeze had an extra crisp to it. A white blanket of snow cascaded across the fields just outside of Whiterun. It's proliferation seemed to extend for miles, over small peaked hills and down to the rivers that flowed through it. A lone elk is perched on top of a hill eating berries fallen out of a tree, when an arrow screamed seemingly out of nowhere and plunged itself into the elks heart. A loud yelp was all it could muster before it lost consciousness and slowly fell to its final resting place. Two figures stood up from behind a rock on an adjacent hill at least 50 yards away and started to approach.

"Stew? Or maybe over an open fire? This Khajiit is known for his masterful cooking." The Khajiit proudly said, referring to himself.

"Sprinkling skooma over a deer doesn't make you a chef, Kharjo." The other man replied as they approached the fresh kill.

A small chuckle escaped the Khajiit as he took out his steel dagger, knelt down and started to remove its hide. "He who dresses the kill, decides how to cook it." He joked.

Roland knew that arguing with a Khajiit was futile, even if he was your best friend. "I'll get the horses." He said, turning back to the hill they came from. Kharjo was still chuckling and babbling to himself as Roland walked away.

A few moments later they had the kill freshly dressed and divided among the horses. Kharjo had just mounted his horse when they heard it. A faint yet distinct howl coming from the treeline a couple hundred yards away.

"This one thinks we should stay and welcome our guests." Kharjo said with his arms spread to his side and his razor sharp claws glistening through his blood soaked hands.

Just then, the sound of Roland's whinding bow being drawn followed by the whip of it being released echoed through the field sending a whistling arrow towards the treeline.

"You missed." Kharjo said, wide eyed.

"No I didn't." Roland replied, just as a faint yelp was heard in the distance followed by 3 more louder howls. Kharjo smiled and nodded to himself as they trotted away.

Roland Strelec was one of the most well known and respected archers in the Imperial army. During his career, he led an elite team into some of the most dangerous operations that ever took place on Tamriel.

Being the oldest son of a Breton father and a Bosmer mother, he seemed to have been destined to become an archer. He was easily 6'4" tall, but somehow still managed to become one of the deadliest stealth archers in the Imperial army by the age of 16. By age 20, he formed the elite group of killers known as: The Rangers.

Even after firing tens of thousands of arrows while leading The Rangers for over 30 years, he never missed. That's what earned him the title, "Marksman".

Now, he's retired from the Imperial army and lives out his days hunting game, and taking out bandit groups with his lifelong friend Kharjo.


	2. Chapter One

\- Chapter One -

Roland and Kharjo hadn't been riding for an hour when they heard a mysterious roar coming from the sky. It was deafening, but Roland could tell it was miles away. They both stopped their horses and froze in place. Rabbits and squirrels were darting in every direction. Birds flew up from the ground by the hundreds. Every wolf within ear shot was howling.

Kharjo turned to look at Roland who had a look in his eyes that he knew all too well. It was the same look he had a year ago when they came face to face with a troll. Or when a grizzly bear came out of the woods and charged them.

It wasn't the look of fear, but the look of a warrior. He almost literally had fire in his eyes. "What was…" Kharjo tried speaking, but he was interrupted by another ear splitting roar. Surprisingly, this one was much closer.

"The watchtower!" Roland screamed as his horse took off into a gallop.

With Kharjo in full gallop right behind him, they seemed to glide across the field. He could faintly hear distant screams and what sounded like a full battle going on now just a few hundred yards away at the watchtower.

When they finally came within eyesight of it, Roland stopped his horse as fast as he could, almost causing Kharjo to collide with him. The scene before them was one of nightmares. There must have been 30 lifeless soldiers sprawled everywhere. Half of the watchtower was on fire and the other half had more soldiers pleading from the windows for help. There were archers on the roof pointing their bows towards the sky and another group of soldiers on horseback closing in on the carnage.

Out of the clouds came a dragon, gliding down spraying fire down on the roof as the soldiers relentlessly tried fighting it off. One man flew off the roof engulfed in a fire ball.

Roland and Kharjo flew into action, both taking their bows out and simultaneously steering their horses and firing into their new foe. Another lone horseman came galloping full speed towards the battle. He had a steel greatsword strapped to his back and was racing for the front of the watchtower. Roland saw him and followed.

"Stay on and cover us!" Roland screamed at Kharjo as he dismounted and followed the man into the building. Kharjo hissed in approval and took off around the watchtower continually spraying the dragon with arrows.

Racing through the burning building, Roland was right behind the other man going up the stairs. The man drew his greatsword and they both jumped over a hole in the stairs onto the roof. It was littered with burning bodies and bloody, screaming soldiers.

Roland met eyes with the man and they both nodded in agreement as if their minds were connected. As soon as the dragon appeared to fly by the roof again, Roland put three arrows in the side of its neck.

It slowed and started to hover over the roof looking for the source of the arrows. That's when the greatsword wielding hero jumped out of his hiding spot, off the roof and slammed the blade as deep as he could into the back of its head.

Riding the flailing dragon down, he jumped off as soon as it hit the ground and rolled to safety.

Roland made it back down just as the dragon was taking its last breath. He could see the madman who rode it down retrieving his sword. Just then, Kharjo rode up on his horse with Roland's horse in tow.

"A dragon in Skyrim!?!" Kharjo asked, out of breath.

Roland was still staring at the man when he replied, "By the gods..."

A ghost like flame engulfed the dragon, seeming to burn all flesh off of the creature. Everyone stared in awe as the man opened his arms and seemed to absorb the flames emitting from the dragon.

"Dragonborn…" Kharjo whispered, clasping his pendant around his neck.

The man turned to the now crowd of people staring at him, and to their disbelief, shouted to the sky with an eardrum spitting roar.


End file.
